Some Die Eloquent Read Online Free

over the girl’s face. ‘She was my aunt.’
    â€˜Then,’ said the pathologist’s secretary briskly, ‘that’s what the message will have been about.’
    An expression of puzzlement succeeded relief on Miss Petforth’s countenance. ‘But she died on Sunday. At least we think it must have been on Sunday.’
    â€˜Dr Dabbe,’ said Dr Dabbe’s secretary, ‘wants to do a post mortem and we find that there’s been no formal identification.’
    â€˜A post mortem? But I thought …’ She pushed back a lock of auburn hair that had somehow found its way past her nurse’s cap. ‘Dr Paston said …’
    â€˜Only if you don’t mind,’ said the pathologist’s secretary, ‘of course.’
    â€˜I don’t mind,’ said Briony Petforth in such a neutral way that Detective-Inspector Sloan was quite unable to make up his mind whether she did or not. ‘It’s just that my cousin’s been seeing to everything.’
    â€˜Yes, indeed.’ The pathologist’s secretary conjured up some papers. ‘That would be Mr Bertram George Wansdyke, wouldn’t it?’
    â€˜He’s her executor,’ responded the nurse obliquely.
    â€˜We did try to get in touch with him,’ said the secretary, ‘at his firm.’
    â€˜Wansdyke and Darnley.’
    â€˜But he’s over in Calleford on business all day,’ said Dr Dabbe’s secretary, ‘that’s why the doctor thought that as you were on the spot and as it would save so much time …’
    â€˜The funeral’s been arranged,’ said the girl. A certain amount of colour had come back into her face now.
    â€˜Yes, indeed.’ If the pathologist’s secretary was very well aware that post mortems took a certain precedence over funerals she did not say so. ‘For next Saturday, isn’t it?’
    â€˜That was for the school,’ Briony Petforth said. ‘It’s to be on Saturday morning so that the girls themselves can choose whether they come or not. Not to have it thrust upon them compulsorily.’
    â€˜How very thoughtful.’
    â€˜That was my cousin’s idea.’
    Once again Sloan was unable to decide what Briony Petforth herself thought of it.
    The pathologist’s secretary was gathering up her papers. ‘So, Miss Petforth, if you would just come this way …’
    Briony Petforth did not move.
    â€˜Dr Paston,’ she said instead, ‘gave us – the family, that is – a death certificate when … when … after she was found …’
    â€˜Did he?’ The pathologist’s secretary turned to her file. ‘Then I may have it here.’
    â€˜He put down hyperglycæmia and diabetic ketoacidosis as the cause of death,’ said the girl. ‘I saw it.’
    â€˜Oh yes?’ The pathologist’s secretary might have been a member of the medical profession herself, so skilled was she in parrying questions.
    â€˜She was diabetic, you see.’ Briony Petforth had now succeeded in getting the stray tail of auburn hair back under her cap.
    â€˜Bad luck,’ said the pathologist’s secretary sympathetically.
    â€˜Had been for years.’
    â€˜Such a lot of it about, too, these days. Now, if you would just come this way, please …’
    â€˜So why,’ asked Briony Petforth, ‘is there being a post mortem?’
    Someone else in Berebury was at that minute asking the very same question of someone quite different.
    â€˜How should I know?’ responded George Wansdyke at the other end of a telephone in Calleford, the county town of Calleshire. ‘All I had was that message to the office asking if I was available this afternoon and naturally they said I wasn’t, because I was over here in Calleford. We’ve had this appointment with the director of United Mellemetics’ Research and Development department lined up